


Firsts and Forever

by MycroftexMachina



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftexMachina/pseuds/MycroftexMachina
Summary: Sid doesn't usually follow the draft, but this year, things are different. This year, Connor McDavid is going to go first, and he is expected to take the hockey world by storm.





	Firsts and Forever

I.

June 2015

Sid doesn’t usually follow the draft. If things go one way, by the end of June he is recovering from the Cup celebrations. More often, he is licking his wounds in his Cole Harbor home and he is not ready to deal with hockey news just yet.

This year, things are a bit different. Despite having been kicked out of the playoffs way too early, Sid has been able to keep playing hockey at the World Championship in Prague. Maintaining Canada’s winning streak and bringing home the gold medal has done a lot to soothe Sid’s bruised heart.

To make things astonishing—no other words about it—he and Claude Giroux have been able to be civil in each other's presence for an extended period of time, developing a weird but effective on-ice chemistry their teammates made fun of.

 _Miracle happen_ _)))))_ had been Geno’s comment, when Sid had told him. In Sid’s opinion, Geno is the best: a supportive friend even when they are on different teams. Flower had laughed. But then, Flower laughs a lot when it comes to Sid.

Anyway, once Sid returns home, he is more inclined than usual to follow hockey news. This ends up including not only having to see the Blackhawks winning the cup for the third time in six years – _really, Jon_? It also means following the combine and the draft.

The 2015 draft class has tremendous depth, something that hasn't been seen in years. It’s unclear whether it is a blessing or a shame that Matthews is not eligible for the draft. As things stand, the narrative surrounding McDavid and Eichel is worse than the one that had plagued Sid and Ovechkin during their rookie year–and the two kids haven’t even been drafted.

And it doesn't stop with the projected top two prospects. Mario has been making noises about Hanafin, Marner and Strome—not that the Penguins have a chance in hell of drafting them, but know your enemies and all that—so Sid has been paying more attention than usual, looking at videos and interviews. He honestly does not remember ever having been so young, despite the fact that Taylor often sends him links with obvious proof that he was indeed, at some point, an awkward teenager. More than anything, Mario has been telling Sid to keep an eye on McDavid. Like Sid really needs the reminder.

Connor McDavid’s name has been going around for years. Sid does not live under a rock— _fuck off Tanger_. Although he is admittedly incompetent with social media, he knows how to Google things. It also helps that the 2015 draft class is about Taylor’s age, and she has been flooding his inbox with article about McDavid and Strome for the past two years. She has the strangest fascination for the Erie Otters.

McDavid is good. Like, really good. Sid can see why some sport reporters have labeled him “The Next Next One”. Sid has never had much patience for stupid nicknames, and he prefers to ignore the ones the media seem to come up with on the regular. In McDavid’s case, however, he sees the point they are trying to make. He is good, certainly better than Sid was at his age. Possibly on the same level as Mario, if not Gretzky. And it is not easy for Sid to admit that, considering how much he works to deserve the title of “Best Hockey Player in the World”.

McDavid is tall, strong, broad-shouldered and incredibly fast. He is definitely someone worth watching. So Sid looks at McDavid’s tapes, trying to tease out hints of future development. He also watches some of Strome’s and Eichel’s and Marner’s, and follows the draft from the comfort of his own living room. The event is more elaborated nowadays than it had been when he was drafted, but some things do not change: Sid can read on McDavid’s face the same nervousness that had plagued him at the time.

The kid looks painfully young, and the haircut and excessive hair product do nothing to add years to his boyish face—not that Sid has much room to talk. It’s like hockey players have to attend special classes about how to do their hair as poorly as possible.

When the cameras capture him mockingly waiving at Strome, Sid lets out a snort, oddly charmed. _Kids these days_ , he texts Mario, whom he knows is also following the proceedings. Mario doesn't deign him with an answer, but then, Mario let Sid live in his house for years and has way too many stories about Sid the Kid to be sympathetic.

After the first round is over, Sid turns off his television and goes to stare at the lake adjacent to his house. The sound of a new text message takes him out of his reverie and he picks up his phone to find a message from Flower.

 _Looks like the next you is going to Edmonton_ , it says.

 _I had not realized that was even a question_ , Sid replies.

 _Eh. Those Canadians traded Gretzky. One never knows_ , Flowers comments, adding, for inexplicable reasons, a poodle emoji.

_You are Canadian!_

_Not from Edmonton, tho_. Flower stresses with a laughing emoji.

 _Thanks God for small miracles_ , Sid says, and then drops the phone on the couch.

McDavid is very good, so chances are he will make it out of training camp and play in the NHL in October. If the kid is really as solid as anyone expects him to be, they will know soon enough. Sid is looking forward to meeting him on the ice.

II.

November 2015

The news of McDavid’s injury is all over the sports news outlets. Sid winces in sympathy every time someone brings it up, whether it is one of his teammates or a journalist. Sid doesn't get asked about McDavid often—they are not division rivals and they belong to two different generations, plus people are still obsessed with the Crosby-Ovechkin rivalry ten years down the line. Still, Sid has suffered major injuries in his career, so sometimes a reporter will throw in a question about whether Sid has any advice for the young Edmonton star.

Sid doesn't get it. He is not a doctor or a trainer—he assumes McDavid has plenty of those. He also never broke his collarbone, so it’s not like he can speak from experience. It doesn't seem to make any difference. Some people keep asking.

At some point, it occurs to Sid that rather than spouting bullshit to the media, he should probably just contact McDavid directly, something that Mario had suggested him do a while ago. Sid never got around to it for a variety of reasons. The season has been a shit-show from the get-go, and the atmosphere in the locker-room has been horrible. The last thing he wants to do when he gets home is to text to the next hockey prodigy and exchange platitudes.

Still, an injury is an injury, and it was the fucking Flyers. If nothing else, Sid and McDavid can bond over their hatred of those losers—Sid’s civil relationship with Claude Giroux notwithstanding.

After much thought, Sid settles on a neutral message, which he triple checks before sending out. First impressions are important and he has responsibilities towards Hockey Canada, if nothing else.

_Hi. I got your number from Mario Lemieux, who got it from your agent. I hope you don't mind. I just wanted to wish you a speedy recovery. And if you need to talk, feel free to call or text me. I am not sure I will have any good advice, but I am happy to try._

He signs his full name, since he does not expect McDavid to have his number, and he honestly thinks that’s the end of it. He is certainly not expecting the five messages he finds the following morning.

_OMG. I had to ask Hallsy if it was really you, he still has your # from worlds. I thought it was Stromer pranking me because I have been whining too much, lol._

_Thanks for ur message. I really appreciate it. It sucks not to play hockey and Im bored out of my mind._

_But Im getting the good pills, so all is pretty and pink!!!_

_Or maybe I should say pretty and orange, since orange is the Oilers color! Go Oilers!!!_

_But its also the Flyers color and fuck those fuckers. So pretty and pink it is._

He adds a series of emoji Sid’s phone does not recognize—Taylor has been telling him to update, but the phone works just fine and Sid will never be one to get the newest model when the old one still functions.

Sid is a bit befuddled but the texts, until he realizes that McDavid was probably high on painkiller when he replied to his message. The texts are all time-stamped around midnight. He is still wondering what to do about the whole thing when a new notification takes him out of his reverie.

_Hi Mr. Crosby, it’s Connor again. I am so sorry about all the texts last night. The painkillers are hitting me really hard and I try not to take too many to avoid the word vomit I subjected you to. Sorry._

Sid lets out a small laugh and replies quickly. _Don't worry about it. It happens to everyone, especially if you are not used to them. I am glad to hear they make the world look better, given the circumstances. How are you feeling? And call me Sid, please._

He figures the best way to put the kid at ease is to ensure they are on equal terms. Mario was very good at that when Sid was a rookie and he wants to begin as he means to go on.

_Okay, thanks, Sid. And I am fine. Or as fine as I can be with a broken collarbone. Which isn’t so fine, but w/e._

_Sorry to hear that_ , he responds.

_Yeah. They say its gonna take a while. Suggestions?_

Sid ponders his answer for a bit. It’s the same things some reporters have asked him, but it’s different when it’s McDavid—Connor, Sid should probably stop thinking about him as McDavid.

_Not really. Never had that type of injury, and when I was concussed I couldn't do almost anything I am sure you are allowed to. Just the usual, I guess: listen to the doctors, get a lot of rest and when it comes to rehab don't overdo it._

_Right. It just sucks so much, you know. I want to be out on the ice with the guys and I hate that I can’t._

Sid can relate. He was out for a long time, and he never forgot the feeling of helplessness that permeated his body and his spirit during those months. It didn't help that he had been heralded as the savior of the Penguins for years and he was stuck doing nothing for almost two seasons.

Connor’s situation is even worse, however, when Sid thinks about it. He is in his rookie year, and he is supposed to lift Edmonton’s collection of first round picks out of the depths of hell they can’t seem to escape. And now he is out of commission for an undetermined amount of time.

_I get it. But there is nothing you can do to make time go faster. Trust me, I tried. It’s going to suck either way, so you might as well make the best of it._

They go back and forth until Sid has to leave for practice. As he makes his way out of the door, he pats himself on the back—so to speak. Score one for the Canadian hockey robot— _fuck off Tanger_.

III.

December 2015-Febraury 2016

Weirdly enough, Connor continues to text Sid. Why, Sid cannot quite fathom, but he often gets home after a game or a hard practice to a message from Connor, detailing his progress with his collarbone and, once rehab begins, with that.

It turns out Dylan Strome had been right. Connor whines a lot. Sid understands this way too well. He is sufficiently self-aware to know he, too, can be a pain in the ass with his whining, regardless of the situation. But he lets Connor whine because, in his opinion, when you are sidelined because of an injury caused by a fucking Flyer, you earn the right to complain to your heart’s content. This, at least, is what he tells Connor when Connor lets him know that Strome has put a moratorium on the whining. Connor takes that as permission to whine to Sid instead.

Connor is also very thoughtful, however. When news spread of Duper’s forced retirement, Sid gets a short text, which he reads after a good cry.

_Sorry about Dupuis. How are you holding up?_

Sid waits twenty-four hours before responding, because between Duper’s retirement and Mike Johnston’s firing things are a bit hectic in the Penguins’ locker-room. It’s not the first time Sid has to deal with a coaching change mid-season, but it doesn't make it any easier.

When he finally has a few minutes to himself and has the waterworks under control, Sid sends back a long text in which explains how not okay he is with the whole thing. By now, he knows that Connor is trustworthy, and he cannot deny that the two of them get each other. It would be hard not to, considering the similarities they share. Plus, talking to Connor, even in the limited way texts allow, helps Sid working through his own stuff.

Connor is very supportive throughout the month of December, and things seem to be going well until, out of nowhere at the beginning of January, Sid receives a text from Taylor Hall.

_Can I give your # to Stromer?_

Sid is trying to puzzle out why Ryan Strome would want his number—and he could get it from John Tavares, he does not need to contact Hallsy—when Hall sends another text.

_Baby Stromer, Dylan. Davo’s best friend._

_What’s wrong?_ Sid asks, immediately on alert. He hasn't texted Connor for a couple of days, but things had sounded okay during the last exchange they had. Rehab is going well, as slow and painful as it is.

_I promised I wouldn't say anything, but Stromer isn’t so dumb. Can I give him your #? He is probably gonna call._

_Sure, okay._ Sid says, feeling his stomach sink. Did he miss something? Has Connor gotten some bad news from the trainers he hasn't shared with Sid?

He doesn't have a lot of time to work himself into a state—and literally zero time to figure out why he is working himself into a state—because his phone rings in short order. Sid doesn't recognize the number, but he is ready to bet that Hallsy and Stromer moved fast. The situation must be dire.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Mr. Crosby?” a deep voice says tentatively. “It’s Dylan. Dylan Strome. I got your number from Taylor Hall. He said it was okay to call?”

“Hi Dylan,” Sid replies. “Call me Sid, please. What’s wrong?” Sid can hear the tension in Dylan’s voice, and he doubts it has anything to do with being back with the Otters.

“Oh, okay. I am Stromer. Or Dylan, whichever you prefer. And it’s Davo, Mr. Cros… Sid,” Dylan says quickly.

Sid’s heart sinks at hearing his worries confirmed but he doesn't manage to ask what is wrong.

“He is really having a bad time in Edmonton,” Dylan begins, “and rehab is not going as fast as he thought it would, and now it sounds like he is going to be out until sometimes in February, and he started freaking out about how he is not going to contribute to the team, and that he is a dead weight, and …”

“Stromer,” Sid says in his best captain voice. He cannot afford to have the kid hyperventilate before he knows what the hell is going on.

Dylan stops and when Sid tells him, “Breathe,” he does just that.

“Okay. Now, what exactly prompted you to getting in touch with me? Because everything you have told me is totally understandable, and Connor knows this.”

Dylan sighs heavily and then, reluctantly, says, “It’s the Calder.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agrees. “You know how he is. I mean, Davo told me you guys got pretty tight, so I assume you know by now how much pressure he’s under. Not to mention the expectations he has of himself.”

“I know.”

“And now he has become convinced he is not going to be nominated for the Calder, and he has always wanted to win the Calder. I mean, he was going to work hard and produce and whatever, but he wanted to go first at the draft, and then he wanted to win the Calder, and then he wanted to win the cup and now …”

“And now he thinks the Calder is out of the question,” Sid concludes.

“Right,” Dylan says dejectedly.

Sid doesn't say anything for a while. This is not a conversation he wants to have with Connor’s best friend; as much as he appreciates Dylan’s concerns, he prefers to deal with people directly, and not through intermediaries.

“Why did you call me, Dylan?”

“Because Davo is moping and getting depressed, and no amount of effort on my part, or Hallsy or Marns, has helped. But then I remembered that you didn't …”

Dylan doesn't finish the sentence, catching himself and muttering an “Oh shit!” that makes Sid smile. Sid doesn’t need much prompting.

“I didn't win the Calder. But I won the cup.”

“Among other things,” Dylan says drily.

Sid burst out laughing and Dylan actually giggles.

 _Jesus,_ Sid thinks, _kids these days_. He doubts he would have had the guts to call up Jagr ten years ago to talk about a common friend in a crisis and then fucking giggle about it.

“If I talk to him, I am going to have to tell him you called me,” he warns Dylan.

“That’s fine,” Dylan is quick to respond. “He is not talking to me right now, because I told him to get a grip. I don't mind more of the silence treatment if you can get him out of his funk.”

“Okay. I will try to call him tonight or tomorrow.”

“Thanks a lot,” Dylan replies, relieved.

“Don't thank me yet. We may both end up in the dog house.”

“You won’t,” Dylan assures him, “Davo worships you. He thinks you are the best player to ever live and he wants to grow up to be just like you. He is going to listen to you.”

“Okay,” Sid says a bit flustered. He knows Connor admires him, but hearing it from another person makes him feel strange. After a few more pleasantries, he hangs up the call and goes to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He needs to think this through before calling Connor. He does his best to forget the last comment Stromer made.

***

It takes almost a day for Sid to get around to calling Connor. They do not talk on the phone. They’ve never talked on the phone, as far as Sid can remember, so this is going to be a change. And Sid loathes talking on the phone. He has never been happier than with the invention of email, which allows him to bypass work-related phone-calls, and texts, through which he can keep up with his meager social circle— _fuck off Tanger_.

So calling Connor is a big deal, even more so because of the whole disaster Dylan brought up. But Sid was never a quitter, and after a nice dinner, he sits on his sectional and hits dial. Connor is two hours behind, but it’s not like he is busy with doing anything.

“Sid? Is everything okay?” is what he gets once the call connects.

“Shouldn't I be asking that question?”

“I am fine,” Connor is fast to reassure him, and Sid doesn't believe him. He wouldn't even if Stromer hadn’t called, because he recognizes the thin undercurrent of desperation in Connor’s voice. He heard it often enough in his own voice during his concussions.

“Are you?” Sid pushes. “From what I hear, that is not entirely accurate.”

“Hallsy promised he wouldn't say anything,” Connor mumbles.

“He is not the only friend you have, Connor,” Sid rebukes him, although not too harshly. “Dylan called me last night,” he continues before Connor can work himself into a tizzy. “He is worried. So is Hallsy, by the way. And I imagine all of your friends.”

“I am fine,” Connor repeats stubbornly, and Sid goes for the jugular.

“So you are perfectly okay with the idea of losing the Calder to Eichel or Panarin?”

There is a long silence from the other end of the line, and then the call disconnects. It looks like Connor McDavid just hanged up on Sidney Crosby. This is certainly something that’s going to be in his memoirs, if he ever gets around to writing them.

Sid pulls up his contacts and sends a text to Hall.

_Get McJesus back on the line, and tell him if he doesn't pick up I am going to sick Hockey Canada’s entire roster on him at the Olympics. He is never getting a pass as long as I am around._

_Aye, Aye Captain_ , Hallsy sends back. _On it. He locked himself in his room, but I have leverage._

Sid decides not to inquire about what leverage Taylor Hall may have on Connor McDavid. Sometimes ignorance is truly bliss. It takes Hallsy ten minutes and a lot of cajoling—he keeps Sid updated—but eventually Connor calls Sid back.

“That wasn't very nice.”

“Doesn't look like nice is getting anyone very far,” Sid retorts.

It doesn't come easy to him to be so harsh, but when Mario did it, it helped Sid more than all the coddling he had to endure from his teammates and his family.

Connor is silent again, and Sid continues.

“Dylan thought it could help to talk to another Calder loser.”

“Oh my god! Did he really say that?” Connor sounds genuinely horrified.

“Yep,” Sid laughs. “Or he almost did.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Why? It is true. And it is not the end of the world.”

“But it sucked at the time,” Connor states with absolute certainty.

“Of course it did. And if you don't win the Calder, it’s going to be awful. I can promise you that. But it’s not going to be the end of the world. I can promise you that too.”

Connor is quiet again for a while.

“Do you think I still have a chance?” he asks hesitantly. Sid can tell it was difficult for Connor to come out and say it. He decides he owes him the truth.

“It depends on how well you do once you return. And what the other rookies do in the second part of the season. Both Eichel and Panarin have been lighting it up.”

“I know,” Connor agrees. “And I am happy for Eichs, really. He gets such a load of crap from everyone. And we are not friends or whatever, but he is an amazing player.”

Sid hasn't been following the Sabres more than absolutely necessary—come on, they are the Sabres!—but he shares Connor’s opinion of Jack Eichel. He didn't go second overall for nothing.

“But Panarin,” Connor continues. “That really bothers me.”

“The fake rookie business,” Sid says.

“I know it’s not very polite…”

“But it is an accurate assessment of the situation,” Sid says in his best media voice. It makes Connor laugh, so that is good.

“To be honest, he will probably win it,” Sid adds. “He is really good, and the years in the KHL do help. No matter what Ovi ever said. I have it on a better authority.”

“Malkin?” Connor asks.

“Indeed. The KHL is a professional league. The best, or so Geno tells me. The Russians just seem to conveniently forget that whenever one of their rookies is up for the Calder.”

“One wonders why they don't stick to it, if it’s the best,” Connor comments bitterly.

“To be fair, you cannot be the best in the world if you do not play against the best in the world.” He heard it often enough from Geno. It works both ways, however.

“Point,” Connor agrees.

“So the worst case scenario is that you don't win the Calder,” Sid continues. “So what? You will spend the summer feeling inadequate and like you have been underperforming, and then you will come back in October ready to prove yourself to the entire league.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“It’s what happens to everyone who wants to win as much as you want to win. A lot of it is skills, but the drive is what pushes you over the rest.”

“You are not telling me I can still win it,” Connor says after a long silent.

“I am not saying you still can’t,” Sid replies.

“Okay,” Connor says, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

They don't say anything for a bit, and then Connor almost screams.

“I cannot believe Stromer called you!”

“I couldn't believe it either, trust me. Now do me a favor and put him out of his misery, will you? Him and a bunch of other guys from junior are apparently waiting for McJesus to implode.”

“Oh god, did you just call me McJesus? When Hallsy said you had I thought he was lying.”

“It got your attention, didn't it? Go and call Stromer. And stop thinking about the awards. The regular season is not over yet, and you still have a lot of work to do.”

“Alright, alright, dad.”

Sid sputters outraged, but Connor, the little shit, hangs up on him again, after a rushed “bye!”

Two seconds later he gets a message from Hallsy: _How have the mighty fallen…_

 _Shut up_ , he responds, _and let me know if things go wrong again_.

He gets another of those stupid emoji thingies from Hallsy and a message from Connor.

_Thank you, Sid._

The smile stays on his face for a long time after that.

IV.

March 2016-August 2016

Connor comes back with a vengeance. He scores one goal and has two assists in his first game, and he starts racking up points like they are going out of fashion. By the end of the regular season, it is clear that the Edmonton Oilers are not going to be in the playoffs, but Connor has left his mark on the NHL. The Calder nomination is not a surprise to Sid, and when it is announced he sends Connor a congratulatory message before turning his attention to the playoffs. The Penguins have secured their spot, and Sid focuses on the first round, where, surprise, surprise, they are going to face the Rangers.

They have been talking on the phone more often since January, him and Connor. It’s weird for both of them, because Sid hates phones, and Connor belongs to this fucked-up social media generation where people cannot have a conversation without a screen between them. Still, now Sid and Connor talk to each other at least once a week and they text even more often. Sid thinks he has gotten this mentorship gig down to a tee. He knew he could do a decent job—Nate will testify to that—but it’s nice to have further evidence to shove in his friends’ face. Tanger comes to mind.

By April, however, Sid needs all his time and energies and, not surprisingly, Connor understands. He has plans to go back to the GTA and play ball hockey with Stromer, and to enjoy the playoffs from the comfort of his couch.

 _Not that I wouldn't prefer to play in them_ , he writes one night. _But w/e_.

Sid can relate to that too.

***

They win the Stanley Cup. They win the _motherfucking_ Stanley Cup. _Again._ Despite the horrific beginning of the season. Despite all the injuries, and losing Duper, and the shake-up in the roster, they still win the Cup. Sid cannot believe it. Or rather, he can, because he always thought they could do it again, ever since the 2009-2010 season. But it had become difficult to believe after so many things went so spectacularly wrong. Yet here they are, dousing each other in champagne after winning the cup in six fucking games.

Flower and Duper are screaming in Sid’s ears—they haven’t stopped since they came back to the visitors’ locker-room at the SAP Center. Geno is hugging anyone within a two feet radius when he is not screaming “We got cup for baby” off the top of his lungs. Phil, Bones and Haggy are doing some random shit ritual they have been doing since Sully put them on a line together and kept them there. Whatever. If it helped them getting the cup, Sid is all for it. Dales is occasionally still thanking Sid for passing him the cup first—like that was ever under debate—and Tanger has been lying all over Olli and Schultzy for the past five minutes, being fed grapes somebody conjured up from who knows where. And the rookies—Murr, Shearsy, Rusty and Tommy—they are in a corner hugging it out, still not believing they won the cup.

Sid is so proud of them. Of all of them. They gave him the Conn Smythe, and he is appreciative of that, but this was a team effort, and now more than ever he wishes he could share the trophy with his teammates.

Considering the trophy, and the rookies before him, makes Sid think of Connor, and in an impulsive move he goes for his phone and surreptitiously leaves the locker-room in search of a quiet corner. He doubts he will manage more than a few minutes by himself, but he really wants to talk to Connor. It’s been a while, what with the playoffs. Now seems like a good time.

His phone is a disaster of email notifications, text notifications and news notifications. He should never have let his sister enable stupid alerts for hockey news. Pulling up his thread with Connor, Sid realizes Connor must have been watching the game, since he clearly commented it live.

Sid scrolls through the messages quickly, laughing when it comes to Horny’s empty netter, which Connor labeled _the best fuckin goal of the fuckin season. Nice assist too, btw_. The string of emoji once the referee called the end of the game is incomprehensible to Sid, although he appreciates the sentiment. He probably should update his phone, if he wants to have meaningful conversations with friends and family.

Since he is running out of time, he hits the call button and when Connor picks up he screams, “We won the cup!”

Connor screams back, “You won the cup!” and then, “Stromer! It’s Sid! He won the cup!”

“Fuck off, Davo!” Sid overhears. “You are drunk!”

“Are you drunk?” Sid asks, on his way to being tipsy himself. “Why are you drunk?”

“Of course I am drunk! You won the cup.”

“The game finished like half an hour ago.”

“More like an hour, and we started drinking before the game began. In solidarity.”

“In solidarity?” Sid laughs. “Was this your way to show your support?”

“You bet! We cheer better when we are drunk, don't we, Stromer?”

Strome must say something in the background, but Sid cannot really hear what with all the noise coming from the tunnels of the arena and from wherever Connor is.

“You won the cup!” Connor repeats excitedly and Sid laughs again. He laughs a lot when he is talking with Connor, he realizes.

“We won the cup! And soon it’s going to be you,” he says. “But not before we win it a couple of more times.”

“We’ll see about it. Next year we are going to kick your ass.”

“We are not even in the same division.”

“Still. We will kick your ass to Winnipeg and back.”

“Dream on, rookie,” Sid says.

“Go Edmonton!” Connor screams in Sid’s ear. And then he hangs up. By now, Sid is used to it.

It doesn't occur to him until the haze of the cup celebration lifts that there is something peculiar about the fact that he felt compelled to call Connor less than an hour after he won the motherfucking Stanley Cup.

V.

June 2016-September 2016

The Awards are a whirlwind, and neither he nor Connor wins. Sid knows Connor had been surprised Eichel had not been nominated as a finalist, but Sid had stopped a while ago to try and make sense of the way in which these things get decided. And anyways, if one were to believe the media, both Eichel and McDavid are soon going to be overshadowed by Auston Matthews.

Sid doesn't get to hang out with Connor at all at the awards, much to his disappointment, but they keep texting and calling even if they are both busy. It’s the summer with the Cup for Sid, and things are more insane than usual. Between all the festivities Pittsburgh and Cole Harbor have in stock, not to mention the training for the upcoming World Cup, Sid’s days are out of control. The hockey school is also taking up a lot of his time, even if it doesn't run until the first week of August.

Still, when news of Hallsy’s trade comes out shortly after the awards, Sid calls Connor immediately. He remembers how awful it was when Army was traded. He had been Sidney’s anchor during his rookie year in Pittsburgh and he knows how much Connor has relied on Taylor, especially during his injury.

Connor is understandably upset even if Hallsy called him to reassure him he is going to be fine.

“He was worried about me, Sid,” he says, tears clear in his voice. “I called him to make sure he was okay, and he was worried about me and wanted to let me know I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this, Connor,” Sid confirms, “but you can’t expect Hallsy to stop caring. You are his rookie.”

“I am everyone’s rookie, apparently,” Connor mutters. “Nuge texted me five times, and Ebs and Leon called me.”

“It’s not a bad thing that your teammates care,” Sid says, trying to contain his smile. He remembers this too: wanting to be considered an adult and at the same time being unable to escape his own age.

“I know,” Connor whines, and god, wasn't Stromer right about Connor’s ability to complain when he is confortable with someone? Still, Sid finds it charming. It creates a nice contrast between the serious persona Connor projects for the media and his true self.

Things get better, because they have to. Connor sends Sid Snapchats of his summer with his friends from Toronto—Stromer and Mitch Marner figure prominently—and Sid replies with photos of him touching the cup and the Conn Smythe. He gets a bunch of assorted vegetables emoji in return, which he really doesn't know how to interpret. So he lets it go.

Soon after his 29th birthday—Connor sent him one of his jerseys, autographed, with a note saying, “Something to tide you over in your old age”—training for the World Cup becomes more intense and relatively quickly camp is upon all of them.

This business of Team North America leaves Sid ambivalent. On the one hand, he is happy that people like Nate and Connor, as well as Eichel and even Matthews—these incredible talents who didn't make their national teams—get to play. On the other hand, he doesn’t like the inherent message being sent: that young players are somehow inferior players. Sid and Jonny have a very long discussion about it. They both won Olympic gold when they were under 23 by playing for Canada, and not some made up team meant to appease who knows who.

Still, it gets the kids on the international scene, and considering that making the roster of the men’s hockey team is currently more difficult than landing on the moon, it’s better for the young players than watching the tournament from the stands.

To the surprise of precisely no one, Sid is named captain of Team Canada, and Connor of Team North America. He looks as poised as Sid has always seen him in interviews when he wears the C for his team, and he knows through the grapevines that the Oilers are going to offer him the C in Edmonton as well.

Team North America crushes Europe in the first pre-tournament game, while Canada doesn't manage to beat Team USA—Pavelski and Kane are on a roll. But then things change and Canada is unstoppable. The kids’ team gets knocked out in the preliminary phase and Sid has only enough time to send Connor a brief message before focusing on the elimination games.

VI.

October 2016-December 2016

The 2016-17 NHL season starts with a whimper for Sid, because, despite the gold in the World Cup, he gets another fucking concussion. Geno has started making noises about investing in bubble wrap. Flower actually buys ten rolls of the thing, the asshole, and has it shipped to Sid’s house. Sid is not amused, but he sends a Snapchat to Connor and Dylan Strome, whom he has somewhat become friendly with. No harm in mentoring more than one young player.

Concussion means little to no exposure to his phone, however, or to anything else, so Sid focuses on getting better. The Penguins are the defending Stanley Cup champions, and he doesn't want to let the other teams think they have a chance.

Luckily, he is sidelined for only a few games, and once he starts playing, he is on fire. He feels great, and the points keep coming. The Pens are doing well, even with the injuries that continue to plague them.

The Oilers are doing well, too. Better than other seasons, at least. As expected, Connor is named team captain just before the season starts and he falls into the role with ease. He calls Sid when he isn’t sure about something—they call more than they text now, something that Mario finds hilarious. Whatever. It’s not like Mario did not host Sid in his house for five years. He has no right to cast stones.

Their first match against each other is scheduled for November 8th in Pittsburgh, and Sid is really looking forward to it. Connor’s injury prevented him from playing against the Penguins last season, but this time he is healthy, and so is Sid.

The media makes a big deal out of the whole thing—because why the fuck not—running headlines about “87 vs. 97” and other stupid nonsense like that. Nevertheless, Sid is sincere when he says, in one of the many interviews he has to give, that he looks forward to the game and that he thinks Connor is an elite player.

Connor is even more effusive, something about which he is charmingly embarrassed when they talk to each other, but not when he speaks to the media. It would be hard for Sid to miss Connor’s moon-sized hockey crush. He is not completely emotion-deaf— _fuck off Tanger_. He doesn't tease Connor too much about it. It’s not like he has really room to talk, what with getting to play with Mario Lemieux in his first season. And the less it’s said about the crush he has on Connor, the better.

They make plans to hang out after the game. The Oilers arrive the day before the game and have to leave mid-morning the day after, so Sid invites Connor out for a late dinner, regardless of the final score. They both have to promise, because they are competitive assholes who cannot leave a loss on the ice if their life depended on it.

The Penguins win 4-3, and the star of the game is Sheary, who nets two goals. Connor has a three-point night, while Sid gets nothing, so, all in all, Sid thinks they can meet on equal footing.

“Sid coming out?” Geno asks after Sid is done with the post-game crap and his shower.

“Not tonight,” Sid says.

“He has a date with McDavid,” Flower smirks, the dick.

“Next One secret talk?” Geno jokes, slugging an arm around Sid’s shoulder and ruffling his hair.

“Shut up, Geno. And go home to your kid.”

“Sid jealous. Not very nice,” Geno fake-mopes before high-fiving Flower, because Sid has shitty friends.

Connor is waiting for him when Sid leaves the PPG Paint Arena’s locker-room—he liked the name Consol so much better, but nobody asked him his opinion when they changed sponsor. Big mistake.

As always, Sid is struck by Connor’s physical appearance. He intellectually knows that the kid is not yet twenty, but he is broad and at least two inches taller than Sid, so he seems much older than that. When he sees Sid, his smile lights up his face, and he goes for a bear hug.

“You are remarkably happy for a loser,” Sid comments while returning the hug.

Connor laughs and swats Sid on the arm. “Three points; who is the loser now?” he replies, putting the phone he had been looking at in his jacket.

Sid sends him a withering look and steers him towards the corridors leading to the players’ parking lot. Connor laughs again. For all of his infatuation with Sid’s hockey, he is more than happy to give Sid shit at any occasion, exactly like Taylor does.

“Good game,” Sid says, not too begrudgingly, and Connor beams and blushes at the same time.

“You too,” he says. “But now I am starving. Where are we going?”

“There is quiet Italian place not far from here. They are pretty good at shielding us from public scrutiny when we go there. I thought we could go there. You have curfew, right?”

“Yeah, but when I told Coach I was having dinner with you he said I could stay out until whenever, provided I make it to team breakfast.”

Connor is one of the most responsible nineteen year olds Sid has ever met, so it is not so surprising McLellan gave him so much leeway. Sid still plans to return Connor to his hotel at a decent hour. The kid might be nineteen, but Sid is not, and they just played a game.

“Cool. Let’s go and cheat on our diet for a night, then.”

At the restaurant they get a nice table in a well lit but hidden alcove. It’s almost 11PM by now, but the place is open until 1AM, and Sid called ahead, so they get food quickly.

There isn’t much to catch up with, since they talked a few days earlier, but Connor tells Sid that Stromer thinks he is going to be sent back to the O again. Connor is visibly upset about it, and Sid is, for once, at a loss for words. This, he absolutely cannot relate to.

“It’s just hard, you know,” Connor explains, “especially with Marns doing so well in Toronto.”

Right, Sid thinks. Mitch Marner is having an astonishing rookie season. Not as good as Matthews, but very good nonetheless. It must be hard for Dylan not to be able to be as effective.

“Does he know for sure?” Sid asks after taking a bite of his chicken parmesan.

“He can read between the lines. He is not producing, and he is not clicking with his teammates as well as he wishes he would,” Connor explains. “I don't know what to tell him.”

Sid is quiet for a minute, trying to think things through.

“I don't think anything you say will make him feel better, Connor.”

“I know, but he is my best friend and I feel like I am leaving him behind. Marns too.”

“You know it’s not your fault, right? Or Marner,” Sid inquires.

“It’s nothing to do with that. Dylan is a very good player. He was drafted third overall. He should be playing in the NHL, and not in the OHL for another year. It makes no sense.”

“It is possible he is not ready for the Coyotes,” Sid suggests.

“What do your mean?” Connor asks all puffed up and defensive.

“I just mean that maybe the coaching staff thinks he is not ready to play in their team.”

“They can use all the help they can get. It’s not like they finished last season in good standing.”

“But it’s about the team, and not only about what one player can bring to it.”

“Now you are giving me your media answer,” Connor says petulantly.

“And you are being a spoiled brat because your buddy is not where you want him to be.”

Connor’s eyes go saucer-wide and he blushes furiously before realizing Sid is making fun of him.

“You are a jerk,” he says throwing a piece of bread at him.

“I am not the one who routinely hangs up on you,” Sid stresses, continuing his dinner. Connor has only been playing with his, but he now digs in and starts eating with the typical appetite of a teenaged hockey player.

“Someone needs to keep your ego in check,” Connor replies with a smirk.

“Flower and Tanger do that extremely well. I don't need your efforts to be added to the French-Canadian contingent.”

“Seriously, however. No advice?”

Sid shakes his head and Connor rolls his eyes. “I am going to tell him. I know you don't like to talk behind people’s back.”

“I got nothing, Connor. Just let things go as they might. When he is ready, he is ready. He is too good not to make it eventually. So it may take an extra year. That means he doesn't have to compete with Matthews and Marner for the Calder.”

“I already thought of that,” Connor admitted.

“Of course you did,” Sid sighs. He knows Connor is over losing the trophy, but he is really unable to let things go completely, and not to care about his loved ones. It’s what makes him such an amazing person.

Connor stops talking about Dylan Strome and starts discussing the Maple Leafs season. He is a Toronto boy through and through, and despite his clear devotion to the Oilers he has retained his childhood love for his home team. It helps he is friendly with Matthews and close to Mitch Marner.

Sid makes the appropriate noises when Connor comments about a game or a play, but his mind is focused on other things: the way Connor gets excited about his friends, how his eyes go serious when he recalls bad checks and injuries, or full of mirth when he tells Sid of the pranks they pulled over the Americans at the draft. They are not drinking, but Connor is flushed, his cheeks a pale shade of pink. Even the bad skin that every teenager has to deal with doesn't detract from the appeal he has on Sid.

It is during a leisurely dinner in a small restaurant in Pittsburgh that Sid realizes he might be fucked.

VII.

January 2017

Sid goes to Vail for bye week. While he is away, the preps for the NHL All Star Game get under way. Never one to be very fond of the whole shebang, he tries to ignore things, but neither his teammates nor Connor let him.

When, after the first two weeks of voting, it becomes clear that people are doing the impossible to make him the captain of the Metropolitan Division, Sid gets a string of laughing emoji from Flower. Considering how difficult things have been for his friend this season, what with losing his position as starting goalie, Sid doesn't mind to be the butt of some jokes. Geno is equally mocking until his name too makes it to the roster and he is stuck with coming to Los Angeles with Sid. Tanger is merciless in his chirping, and the rookies, who, to be fair, are no longer rookies, join in the fun.

Connor is stunned when he is named captain of the Pacific Division. There is no other way to describe his reaction when they Facetime one night—they moved to video-chat soon after their dinner together.

“We are going to kick your ass,” Connor says, the bluster barely hiding the awe.

“You wish,” Sid smirks, having by now given up on trying to get out of going to the All Star—he managed for several years, he may as well go this time. He refuses to consider how much Connor being there played into his decision.

“You will see,” Connor insists. “We are going to win the skill competition and choose your division for the semi-final and then we are going to slaughter you.”

They go back and forth chirping each other until Sid is sure Connor’s mind has settled, and then they say their goodbye.

Sid gets that Connor is astonished. Despite his talent, he continues to remain very humble about himself and his accomplishments. The only thing he doesn't tolerate when it comes to his play has to do with unwarranted attacks to his team and his friends. To Sid, however, the All Star recognition it is just another sign of how much Connor is going to do for hockey in the years to come. The fans already love him so much to prefer him to other, equally talented and popular players, and it warms Sid’s heart. He knows he is biased.

These days, Sid is struggling a lot to reconcile his feelings for Connor, and it makes him occasionally dread the upcoming weekend. Since their dinner back in November, Sid has done a lot of soul-searching to figure out what the hell he is doing.

Connor is his friend, and he is kind, smart and a good person all around. He is a fantastic hockey player and an incredible human being, who is not afraid to sass his friends or the media when the situation arises.

To Sid, Connor is also incredible attractive: not necessarily only on a physical level, although he acknowledges, if only to himself, that he kind of likes how Connor looks. But all of this is mixed up with the fact that Connor is ten years younger than Sid, that he is just starting in the league and that Sid has basically been mentoring him for the past year.

To make matters worst, Sid is perfectly aware of the crush Connor has on him. He hasn't been able to figure out if said crush has extended beyond hockey since they started hanging out together more often. Hell, he doesn't even know if Connor is remotely interested in men. Sid doesn't listen to gossip as a general rule, and when gossip reaches him despite his attempts to escape it, he ignores it. Not that he has heard a word about Connor.

So he doesn't know what to do about this thing. He also doesn't know whom to ask about it, because, although everyone knows that he and Connor have become friends, he hasn't mentioned his feeling to anyone. He is reserved and private about his life, even with the people closest to him. So he hasn't confided in Flower or Taylor about this, even if they are the two people he trusts the most about this kind of things. He has really thought about talking to Taylor, but he has decided against it, because … he doesn't know. Possibly because the age difference really freaks him out. Connor is younger than his sister.

The end result is that the All Star Weekend is in three days and Sid has no clue about how to deal with seeing Connor in person. The whole thing is so middle school he wants to throw up. After so many years in the league, however, he should not be particularly surprised to realize his emotional development has been as stunted as his teammates—fuck off Tanger.

Soon before the weekend, Geno has to pull out because of a lower-body injury, and Sid loses what he was considering his crutch for the entire weekend. Which kind of explains why he ends up making waves among fans and journalists alike, not to mention PK Subban, for hanging out with Alex Fucking Ovechkin during the Centennial Gala and the Skill Competition. Geno can’t stop sending him texts consisting of endless parentheses like the dick he is.

Although they see each other in the lobby of the hotel and at the arena, Sid doesn't get to speak to Connor one-on-one until the evening before the games. He is relieved he hasn't made a fool of himself with the accuracy shot and the stick handling competitions, and watching Mike Smith score from net to net has been really cool, even if it had meant tons of points for the Pacific team. Connor is going to be unbearable.

Sid is pretty tired, but Connor has asked him if he has some time to hang out before turning in tonight, and Sid is not going to be the guy who cannot handle his feelings for his friend, even if he cannot handle his feelings for his friend.

They meet up in the hotel bar, where a lot of the guys who didn't come with their families are also having a drink. Some have ventured outside—it’s LA, it’s not like the people here aren’t used to see random celebrities in the street—but Sid is not feeling it, and neither is Connor.

Connor just turned twenty, so it’s illegal for him to drink in the States, but Sid is able to get him a beer without too much trouble. He is legal in Canada, and that’s the only country that matters in Sid’s book.

“Having fun?” Sid asks after taking a sip of his drink.

“It’s amazing! I don't understand why you were bitching about it so much!”

Connor is a bit flushed and the collar of his shirt is undone. He lost the jacket he must have had on at some point and his features are relaxed—a combination of alcohol and the lack of cameras.

Sid shakes his head, both in response to Connor’s comment and to get a hold of his wandering thoughts.

“Wait until you’ve done it a few times and you get asked the same questions over and over again.”

“Like I don't already. People really got a kick out of you and Matthews beating me in the accuracy challenge.”

Sid grins satisfied, because even at the All Star he wants to win. These youngsters are very good, and Sid was as effusive as possible when McGuire asked him about them, but he is not done with hockey yet.

Connor rolls his eyes but he smiles at Sid’s antics.

“Overachiever,” Connor says.

“This coming from the youngest captain in NHL history. Give me a break,” Sid responds kicking him in the shin.

Connor’s smile is shy this time, and Sid is so fucked it’s not even funny.

From the corner of his eyes he sees Nate MacKinnon wave at him, although he doesn't stop from walking out of the bar with PK. He waves back with a smile and wishes, not for the first time, that his feelings for Connor were more similar to those he has for Nate: great admiration for his hockey and a very close friendship.

Connor must notice the exchange, because he stops smiling before commenting, “You guys are close.”

The atmosphere between the two of them is suddenly charged, and Sid feels like he missed the plot of the story he is in.

“He is a very good friend, yes,” Sid confirms, although a bit hesitantly. Everyone has seen the Tim Hortons commercials, after all, and he never made a secret of his friendship with Nate.

Connor is still not smiling, his green eyes following Nate out of the room.

“He is good,” Connor admits begrudgingly. The tone of voice surprises Sid, because Connor is always very quick at recognizing other players’ abilities.

“Yes,” Sid agrees, because Nate is very good. He is excellent, in fact; one of the bright young stars of Hockey Canada. It’s not his fault that he plays on a team that cannot make it to the playoffs consistently.

“You have a habit of mentoring rookies,” Connor adds with a strange expression on his face. He is still looking at where Nate disappeared out of the bar.

Sid thinks about it. His friendship with Nate developed more because they are both from Nova Scotia and can train together over the summer than because he deliberately sought him out during the season like he did with Connor.

Also, Nate has never stirred in Sid what Connor can do just by being on the other side of a touchscreen. Not that Sid doesn't care about Nate, of course. He is one of his closest friends and they do hang out together quite often in the off-season. It’s just very different, and now that he thinks about it, Sid can acknowledge it has always been very different.

“It’s not the same,” he says.

Connor looks straight at him and his eyes are suddenly incandescent, “It’s not?”

Sid finally realizes that Connor is jealous of Nate. He is furiously, blazingly jealous of Nate. The thought makes Sid feel giddy with relief and terrified by the myriad of possibilities that have opened up before them just because Nathan MacKinnon decided to wave at Sid.

“No,” he says seriously. “It really isn’t,” he stresses, looking at Connor. He hopes his gaze conveys what he is implying, because he really doesn't want to come out and say it. He wasn't prepared for this to happen.

Connor swallows a sip of his beer, flustered. Apparently, he too hadn't foreseen this, because his eyes dart around looking for purchase. However, he quickly takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and finishes his beer. Then he gets up and says, “Wanna get out of here?”

He looks at Sid straight in the eye, and Sid can see that he is terrified that Sid is going to say no. Sid doesn't know what to say, but the longer he waits, the paler with fear Connor gets. The last thing Sid wants to do is making Connor feel unwanted. Especially when he is so very much wanted. So he gets up as well and gestures towards the exit.

“Lead the way,” he says, and follows Connor to the elevators.

“I am on the tenth floor,” Connor explains while they are waiting. There are people milling around, but not too many. It is getting late in the evening.

“So am I,” Sid says, glad they do not need to negotiate anything just yet. “Room 1015.”

“1030,” Connor informs him, and Sid hadn’t realized they were on the same wing too. It’s like the hockey gods are blessing them left and right.

“Convenient,” Sid remarks. Connor giggles nervously.

“Indeed,” he says as the elevator’s doors open before them.

The elevator is blissfully empty, but Sid doesn't make a move just yet, because he doesn't want to see a security video of him kissing Connor end up on Deadspin. They also need to talk this out before they do anything about whatever is happening between them. There is too much at stake: their friendship, their future relationship, and, as much as it pains Sid to think it, their careers. Connor’s has just begun, and Sid is not going to fuck this up just because he can’t keep a lid on his emotions.

“Mine or yours?” Connor asks once they step out of the elevator.

“Where will you be more comfortable?” Sid replies, and Connor rolls his eyes like the teenager he wishes everyone would forget he just was.

“Connor,” Sid says, his voice steely. He is not going to fuck this up, and he wants Connor to understand this.

“Your room is fine, honestly,” Connor says when he realizes Sid is not going to go anywhere until Connor makes his wishes known.

Sid nods and leads them to his room. Once Sid closes the door, Connor’s arms are suddenly around him, and he uses his height to press Sid into the wall near the entrance.

“Wait,” Sid says, raising his arms and taking Connor’s face into his hands. The movement effectively stops Connor from kissing him, and Sid mentally curses his own innate tendency to cockblock himself. Doing the right thing is such an ingrained habit he can't help but following his instincts.

Connor lets out a sigh, and leans his forehead against Sid’s. His arms are still around Sid’s back.

Sid smiles, amused at Connor’s eagerness, and rewards his patience by rubbing his nose against Connor’s. Connor literally collapses against Sid, hiding his face in Sid’s shoulder and hugging him even tighter. He smells so good, a combination of soap, deodorant and a faint echo of cologne. It’s the first smell Sid is able to associate with Connor and it is intoxicating. He thinks he could stand here, in the entryway of his hotel room, holding Connor in his arms, for the rest of the night.

Connor mumbles something that Sid doesn't understand.

“I can’t hear you,” Sid says. He sneaks his arms around Connor’s shoulders and he rubs the back of his head soothingly. They are both hard, which goes a long way to reassure Sid that Connor wants this. Still, there is no rush, as Connor seems content to cuddle into Sid.

When Connor doesn't say anything, Sid disentangles himself from his arms and drags him in the room, guiding him to its queen-sized bed. It takes him a minute to rearrange Connor to his satisfaction, but they are soon back to cuddling, on an horizontal surface, this time.

“Well?” Sid says when Connor remains silent.

“You were the one who wanted to talk,” Connor responds. He is sulking.

“Because this is important, Connor. You are important,” Sid explains.

Connor raises his head from Sid’s shoulder and looks him in the eyes.

“You are important too,” he says. “I don't want to mess this up.”

“Neither do I. So you get why I think it’s better we talk.”

“I do,” Connor says, lying back on Sid. “But I want this. God, I’ve wanted this for so long I don't remember when I didn't.”

Sid hides his surprise by running his hand through Connor’s hair. The hockey crush, he knew about, but Connor is clearly referring to so much more than a stupid hockey crush.

“I want it too,” he confesses.

“Stromer is going to be so smug,” Connor smiles, changing the atmosphere between them by mentioning his friend.

“You told him about this?”

“Of course I did. First of all, he knows more about this type of things than I do, and I really didn't want to ask my brother. I couldn't ask you, so I went to Dylan.”

“And he said…”

“He said to go for it, because we are made for each other. Created by the hockey gods to prolong Canada’s world supremacy for eternity.”

Sid cannot contain his laughter, which has the side effect to dislodge Connor from his position. Connor makes himself more comfortable on one of the bed’s pillows and Sid turns to face him.

Connor raises his hand and runs it over Sid’s forehead.

“I am scared,” he says, and Sid’s heart bursts with love for this kid who is so brave, and so smart, and so kind and so talented and who, for whatever reason on God’s green earth, wants Sid in return.

“I am scared too, Connor,” Sid confesses. “That’s why I wanted to talk.”

“I still want to try this, though.”

“I don't want to try. It’s really important that you understand this, Connor. If we do this, I am not going to try it. I am going to do it.”

Connor’s eyes go wide and he leans forward to press a brief kiss on the corner of Sid’s mouth.

“I didn't mean to imply I was not gonna give you 110%,” he says. “I know you are worried because I am so young,” he adds with a grimace.

Sid nods, because it’s the truth, and it is one of the reasons he has been hesitant to even think about doing something about his feelings for Connor.

“But you know me,” Connor continues. “You _know_ me. I am not going to fuck this up. You matter too much for me to fuck this up.”

“You will fuck up. We both will. I have no idea what the hell I am doing,” Sid confesses. It’s not that he lacks the practical experience. That’s never been a problem. It’s just that, with Connor, there is so much at stake. And he really, really wants to make it work.

“Well, that makes the two of us,” Connor says. “But we are fast learners. And Dylan promised he is going to mentor us.”

“I am not going to have Dylan Strome be our couple counselor,” Sid says horrified. They are going to need to talk about what Connor can and cannot share with Stromer.

“He was actually offering to be our sex counselor, but I will pass the message along,” Connor smirks, and Sid lets out an “Oh Jesus,” that sends Connor in a fit of giggles.

Then Connor’s words register and Sid cannot help himself, “Wait a minute. Is Dylan gay?”

“Dylan is greedy,” Connor responds, mirth in his eyes. “He doesn't understand why he should limit himself to one option when he can have them all.”

“When you put it like this,” Sid says.

“I didn't. I am gay. But Dylan is bi. And he gets around. And before you get all puffed up, I have his permission to share this bit of info with you. He was convinced we would get around this, and he wanted to be here, at least in spirit.”

“You have the weirdest friends,” Sid comments.

“Right, because Flower is not going to want to know everything when you tell him.”

“How do you know I haven’t told him already?” Sid asks.

“Have you?”

“No. I haven’t talk to anyone about this,” Sid admits.

“Do you want me to lend you Stromer?” Connor jokes.

“No thanks. He seems to be already part of this relationship, and it hasn't even started. The only person I need to talk about this, for now, is you.”

“Oh,” Connor says, visibly delighted by Sid’s words. “Is this a relationship, then?”

It’s Sid who rolls his eyes this time, because teenage behavior is notoriously transmitted through direct exposure. “What do you think?” he says, and drags Connor towards him to give him the kiss he has denied him when they arrived into the room.

VIII.

January 2017-April 2017

They don't do much that evening. They have games the following day and they are both tired from the skill competition. They talk a lot, however. About themselves, and what they wish from each other, their desires and innermost thoughts. They make plans for the summer, for after the playoffs and the awards. They are both doing very well. Connor is currently projected to win the Art Ross, and it seems likely he will get a Hart nomination. Sid is not doing too shabby either, leading in goals. This means they might be busy until late June. Still, they want to spend some time together away from everyone else, Stromer included—Sid insists. So they decide they will stay in Cole Harbor for a bit. They also have another game in March, in Edmonton this time, and Sid is going to check his schedule to see if he can arrive a day earlier. He doubts it, but he is going to try.

The Metro team ends up kicking everyone’s ass and Wayne Simmonds deservedly wins MVP of the weekend. Sid is so happy about everything that he returns to Pittsburgh elated and ready for the second part of the season.

After talking to Connor about it, Sid decides to speak to Flower. He needs a confidant and Stromer doesn't count, even if he offered his services via text. He waits until after the trade deadline, however, which everyone in the locker-room watches with ill-concealed dread.

It’s hard to lose Eric, but half of the Pens’ defense is injured, and bringing in people like Mark Streit makes sense. Still, when March 1st comes and goes and Flower doesn't get traded, everyone draws a sigh of relief and focuses on the last push towards the playoffs. The atmosphere in the locker-room relaxes visibly and even Sully seems chipper, which is saying something.

Flower listens to Sid pouring his heart out without saying anything, and once Sid is done, drained and a little shell-shocked, Flower goes to him and hugs him for a long time.

“You should have told me sooner,” he says, tears in his eyes.

“I didn't know how,” Sid confesses, sniffling a bit. Flower’s hugs are the best hugs.

“Oh, _mon ami,”_ Flower says, and it makes Sid feel guilty.

“He is a good kid,” Flower adds, smirking at Sid’s wince, because Flower is still Flower.

“I hate you,” Sid grumbles, without any real heat.

“No, you don't,” Flower counters. “I am your favorite.”

Sid doesn't deny it and Flower spends the rest of the evening getting the whole story out of Sid again. Then he convinces Sid to talk to Mario, because it’s Mario, and to Taylor, because Flower loves Taylor more than he loves Sid, and he doesn't want to lie to her.

So Sid spills his guts to his sister, who is so happy about the whole thing one would think she were the one dating Connor McDavid. She wants to be introduced immediately, but Sid manages to convince her to wait until the summer. Connor has enough on his plate as it is.

Her next step in her campaign to make Sid’s life miserable is to try to get Connor’s phone number and, when that fails, Stromer’s. Sid doesn't comply because he is not stupid, and he wants Dylan Strome, equal opportunity Casanova, as far away from his little sister as he can be. Connor, of course, finds the whole thing absolutely hilarious, but promises not to say anything to Dylan.

Mario is another story. After thinking it over, Sid decides to wait until the Pens’ season is over. Mario is Sid’s friend, but he is also Sid’s boss, and Sid’s relationship with Connor is something that may ultimately impact Sid’s job. So Sid wants to have this conversation when the Pens are not finalizing their position in the playoffs or fighting to advance to the next round.

Sid and Connor get to spend some time together in March, but not as much as they would like. Sid cannot get extra time in Edmonton, so they do the best they can with what they have, which isn’t much.

The Oilers clinch a playoff spot on March 28th, a week after the Penguins do, and Connor is beside himself with joy. It’s the end of a decade long draught for Edmonton, and a personal achievement for Connor, who led the team in an exemplary manner. To top it all off, Connor wins the Art Ross, and Sid is so proud of and happy for him that winning the Rocket Trophy, especially with only forty-four goals, barely register.

“It might not register with you, but I certainly noticed,” Connor says when Sid calls him to congratulate him.

“You are biased,” Sid says, not wanting to steer the attention away from Connor.

“And you are not?” Connor snorts.

Sid decides that changing topic of conversation is the best part of valor. “Dylan has been texting me flames.”

“He has been texting you firebombs, and I cannot believe I have to explain this to you again,” Connor laughs because he is a little shit even now that they are dating, or whatever it is they call it nowadays.

“Fine! Your best friend has been texting me firebombs. I think he still wants my sister’s number.”

“He does not want your sister’s number, because he doesn't know your sister even exists. We went over this already too, Sid.”

“You don't understand what it means to have a younger sister who is also a hockey player,” Sid grumbles.

“When you are right, you are right,” Connor says soothingly, “and I’ve never been more thankful about having a brother. However, this does not change the fact that I have not mentioned Taylor to Stromer. I heard your threat of cutting off my testicles the first time you uttered it. She is not on Dylan’s radar.”

“You don't know for sure,” Sid laments.

“Yes, I do. Plus, Stromer is otherwise engaged at the moment, and,” he adds quickly before Sid can get a word edgewise, “that’s all I am going to say about it. Go back to compliment me on my fabulous second season in the NHL.”

“Wow. The romance is already dead,” Sid deadpans.

They spend the rest of the call not talking about hockey.

IX.

April 2017-May 2017

The days between the end of the regular season and the playoffs pass quickly. Connor wants to come to Pittsburgh to visit Sid, but he ultimately decides to stay in Edmonton and rest. Sid is relieved, even if he would have loved to see him. They talk often, but steer away from hockey, afraid things might get too personal.

Once the playoffs begin, it becomes progressively more difficult for Sid and Connor to find time for each other. It’s not for lack of trying. It’s just the unfortunate schedule of the playoffs, that has them playing on the same day but on opposite sides of the country, with extensive traveling in between. What was easy to deal with in December or February becomes impossible now that it’s do or die.

The Penguins win the first round against the Blue Jackets in five games and, quite surprisingly, Edmonton takes the Sharks in six. When Taylor sends Sid a link to Connor’s “My math says it’s 2-2” interview, Sid goes on Amazon and orders a copy of _Math for_ Dummies, which he expedite-ships to Connor. Connor claims he is not amused, but the Oilers win the series.

They manage to catch up between the first and the second round. Sid is concerned about the pressure Connor is under, and Connor rightly tells him off.

“You have to stop with this, Sid,” he says one late night. “I know you are worried about me, but I am fine. If I need something I will tell you, but you cannot pre-emptively help me with things that haven’t happened yet.”

It turns out that Sid is a hoverer, or so Dylan informs him via text, presumably after Connor called him to complain about Sid. Sid, who doesn't understand where Dylan finds the energy to worry about Sid’s and Connor’s relationship, when he has his own playoffs to worry about, not to mention his horrific dye job. Sid tells him that, and he gets a poop emoji for his effort. He is friends with morons, is what he is.

So Sid might be a hoverer but he is really worried. He never dated a hockey player, and he knows from experience what Connor is going through. And it’s hard.

The tables are swiftly turned when Ovechkin hits Sid with his stick and Niskanen ends up cross-checking him in the back of the head. Sid doesn't black out, but it doesn't take too long for him to realize it’s another fucking concussion, because what’s one more in the greater scheme of things.

His phone must explode with messages, which he cannot get to because he needs to go through tests and questions and the whole protocol is something that both he and his doctors take very seriously.

Sid wants to call his family to tell them he is fine. Concussed, but fine. He wants to call Connor, who doesn't have a game tonight and who was probably watching Sid’s game.

Flower comes in the trainers’ room during the second intermission, and Sid begs him to get him his phone.

“Never thought I saw the day,” Flower smiles, a worried look in his eyes, “but I can’t.”

“I need to call Connor,” Sid says.

“I’ll do it.”

“You have a game,” Sid objects.

“And you have a concussion,” Flower counters, because he is not stupid, and he is a goalie. “I’ll call the kid and let him know you are fully-functioning, or almost as.”

“Don’t let anyone …” Sid begins, but Flower raises his eyebrows and Sid decides that silence is the better part of valor.

Flower nods and disappears back into the tunnels. Sid doesn't see him again, but one of the trainers comes back with a brief message, “Flower said it’s done.”

It doesn't really make Sid feel much better, but he deals.

They lose in overtime, because why the fuck not, but at least Sid can go back to his own house and sleep in his own bed. A trainer comes with him to ensure things don't get worse before they get better. The only good news is that Sid regains possession of his own phone, and is allowed to make a few short but indispensable phone calls. Talking to his parents and his sister goes well—Sid hates to put them through this, and he hates it even more that they are used to it.

The call to Connor is more difficult. Connor had sent only three texts, which Sid reads quickly.

_Go Pens!_

_OMG, Sid, call me as soon as you can._

And the final one, _Thanks for having Flower call me._

Clearly, Connor decided to show some restraints with Sid because, if Stromer is to be believed, he clearly didn't with him. There are twenty-six messages from Dylan, and the last one just says, _I know you are probably concussed, but call Davo before he worries himself into an early grave._

Sid takes a deep breath and hits the call button.

“How are you?” Connor asks, trying to rein in the fear that Sid can hear in his voice.

“It’s a concussion, but I am fine,” Sid says, not sugarcoating anything. They are both hockey players. There is really no point.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” It’s not like there is much more that he can say about it.

“I know you probably need to sleep and everything, so I am going to let you go, but can I talk to you tomorrow?” Connor asks timidly. Sid feels tears prickling his eyes.

“Of course. As soon as I am done with the doctors I will give you a call, okay?”

“Okay,” Connor replies, breathing heavily.

Sid doesn't know what else to say. This is really uncharted territory and he feels like he needs to do more for Connor.

“It’s going to be fine,” he adds for lack of anything better to say.

“I know,” Connor agrees. “But I doubt it’s gonna get easier.”

“You want to stop,” Sid asks, suddenly terrified. God, they haven’t even started.

“What? No, of course not,” Connor is quick to reassure him. “It’s just a lot. And not something I’d ever thought about.”

“Right,” Sid says, because that was kind of the point he was trying to make at the beginning of the playoffs.

“Go to sleep and call me tomorrow,” Connor repeats, and then, to make sure Sid does just that, he hangs up on him.

Sid sighs heavily and sends him a quick text, _You’re a little shit_.

 _You love me_ , he gets back, and he is not stupid enough not to be able to read what Connor is saying there. He sends back an Angel emoji and goes to sleep.

X. July 2017

“I cannot believe you didn't want me here,” Dylan Strome grumbles while they are in Sid’s backyard grilling. “This place is amazing. You cannot deprive me of such beauty.”

Sid rolls his eyes. He really doesn't understand how someone overall as calm and even-keeled as Connor can be best friend with a giant pain in the ass like Stromer.

“It probably had something to do with wanting to spend quality time with his boyfriend,” Taylor explains from her chair. She is sipping a beer and texting to one of her friends.

Connor is inside preparing a salad or some other food. He ran back inside when he realized Dylan and Taylor had ganged up on Sid and hasn’t come out yet. Sid is going to kill him.

“There is that,” Dylan nods appreciatively before smirking. “But you have the whole summer.”

“Indeed,” Sid says.

Trying to get a word edgewise when Dylan and Taylor are in the same room is nearly impossible. They took to each other as soon as they met—like six hours ago—and they haven’t stopped giving Sid grief.

Stromer had appeared out of nowhere this morning, hangover and bashful, although with a little evil light in his eyes Sid knows never goes away. He had asked to speak to Connor, and Sid, recognizing a person in need of a friend when he saw one, had led him to his home gym. When Connor had seen the state Dylan was in, he had hugged him fiercely and taken him outside. Sid, at a loss, had called Taylor.

His sister had come over and they had put together enough food to feed twelve hockey players—whatever it was, they had figured food might help. After a while, Connor and Dylan had joined them, Dylan looking remarkably better. Soon thereafter, the Strome-Crosby campaign of “Let’s-see-how-long-it’s-going-to-take-to-drive-Sid-crazy” had begun.

It’s not that Sid doesn't want Dylan here. The topic never came up, to be fair—Connor hadn’t asked and Sid hadn’t offered. But he doesn't mind if Connor’s friends come to visit them. He wants Connor to feel at home. It’s just that Connor has just arrived two days ago, and they haven’t gotten much time together by themselves. May and June had been insane and Sid really wanted for the two of them to be alone together.

Dylan looks much better than he did this morning, a combination of good food, an afternoon nap and another long chat with Connor. Sid doesn't know what’s going on and Connor hasn't said anything, but Taylor mentioned “boy troubles” when Sid asked her what she thought. Weird goalie powers.

“I want my steak bloody, Stromer,” Taylor yells from her chair. “Don't let Squid turn them into piece of coal.”

“Squid?” Dylan repeats delighted.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sid warns him, waving the spatula at him.

“Davo,” Stromer yells, right in Sid’s ears.

Connor comes out of the kitchen with a tray filled with vegetables.

“What?”

“Did you know Sid’s nickname is Squid?” Dylan says gleefully. The kid is a menace.

Sid snorts. Like that wasn't the second thing Taylor had told Connor, after introducing herself as the better Crosby.

“I heard,” Connor laughs, “but I have been banned from using it for life on threat of …”

He doesn't finish the sentence, luckily, but he goes red enough for both Taylor and Dylan to figure it out.

“Ew,” Taylor says getting off her chair and joining Sid at the grill. “Let’s not talk about sex when it involves my brother.”

“I am in favor of that,” Sid agrees. Dylan faux-pouts while getting Taylor’s steak off the grill.

Connor drops the vegetables on the table and goes to help Dylan finishing up the rest of the meat, while Sid grabs drinks for everyone.

It’s late in the evening, and the sky is turning dark. The sound of crickets is slowly overshadowing the chirping of the birds and a pleasant breeze is coming from the lake.

Sid is happy.

Things are going well, or as well as they can be considering that he may be stuck with Dylan Strome for the foreseeable future. When Connor asked if Dylan could stay for a few days, Sid had immediately agreed, despite what Dylan implied. He doesn't need to know what’s happening. He just wants to help Connor’s friend. His friend.

Sid hasn't talked to Mario yet, and he is not sure he is ready to. Taylor and Flower are still the only people who know he is in a relationship with Connor McDavid. Besides Stromer and Connor’s brother, who has been as supportive as Dylan, and has graced Sid with a shovel talk as terrifying as the one Taylor’s delivered—to Sid, because apparently Connor is too good for him.

Despite the secrecy, Sid is happy and he knows Connor is too. He can see it every second of every day they spend together in Cole Harbor, training, fishing, and living together. Nate is supposed to join them in three weeks, and Sid is going to tell him about everything that has happened in the past two years. He thinks Nate will understand. Nate is his friend and he loves Sid. He is going to want him to be happy. Connor has been thrilled with the idea—he is still jealous of him, despite Sid’s reassurances.

Sid doesn't usually follow the draft. If things go one way, by the end of June he is recovering from the Cup celebration. More often, he is licking his wounds in his Cole Harbor home and he is not ready to deal with hockey news just yet. He is glad, however, that he listened to Mario and tuned in in 2015 for the draft to end all drafts. He doubts he would be here today, if he hadn’t.


End file.
